Honorary Slytherin
by rock-the-casbah18
Summary: Seventhyear has started, Dumbledore is gone, and Hermione has been named Head Girl. What will happen when she arrives at Hogwarts to witness wreck and ruin? What will happen when she finds comfort in the most unlikely of characters? DMHGmaybeBZ


**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns what she owns, which you most likely will recognize.

**A/N:** I can't believe I'm actually doing this – rewriting _Honorary Slytherin_. Good Lord, I'm not even sure I know where it's headed yet. I just know that most of it is piss-poor writing, and I feel almost obligated to fix it as long as I allow it to stay on this site. Anyway, the backbones of each chapter will be the same, and I'll probably keep some of the dialogue, but for the most part, this story is having an extreme make over! Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One: A Herd of Slytherins and a Nervous Gryffin-dork**

She peered nervously around the tiny compartment on the Hogwarts Express, taking in the old fashioned upholstery on the seats and the blur of Scotland as it flew by. Hermione Granger was alone. Completely alone, with only Slytherins as company. Unfolding and refolding her hands in her lap, Hermione looked around at each of the seventh-year Slytherins. Each had changed in their own subtle way, that much she could tell by just glancing at them. She couldn't say much for their personalities, as not one was making even the slightest bit of conversation.

Across from her was Draco Malfoy, who had his head resting against the cold glass of the compartment's window. He still had the same platinum-blonde hair that he always had had, but he no longer wore it slicked back and it was now falling loosely around his face. She thought it made him look about five-years old. Or too much like his late father. That tyrant, Lucius Malfoy, was probably smirking in his grave as she thought that. Draco's features hadn't changed much as he'd aged; he still had a slight sharp, aristocratic nose and his cheek bones were well-defined, making him look delicate and porcelain. As Hermione made her last observation, Draco's eyes snapped up, and connected with her own, causing her to start in shock. His steely, silver eyes bore into her own wide, amber eyes and she quickly averted her gaze.

A scarlet blush started to creep into Hermione's cheeks as she realized that she had just been caught gawking at Draco Malfoy. That was, well, that was just embarrassing. Now he would think that she had some sort of disgusting schoolgirl crush on him, when in reality she loathed him. Not that he was ugly; Draco was one of the most handsome boys at school, along with Harry Potter, Ernie MacMillan, and Blaise Zabini. Seamus Finnigan was rather attractive, as well, but he was with Dean Thomas, so Hermione didn't even give him a second thought. Something was different about Draco though, other than his unconventional handsomeness. Hermione was determined to figure it out, give it a name, but at the current time she was still getting over her embarrassment at getting caught ogling the spoiled boy.

"Problem, Granger," Malfoy asked, his signature sneer stamped across his face. Hermione was positive that if Draco had never learned how to sneer that he would be infinitely better looking.

"Well, other than the fact that Professor McGonagall stuck me in with you lot, I'm perfectly fine, thanks," Hermione returned with a certain coldness in her voice. Shaking his head and continuing with his infernal smirking, Draco leaned against the window once more.

"Miss Granger, what do you find so repulsive about our company," Blaise, who had always been quite the quiet bloke, spoke up.

"Do you want me to list _everything_," Hermione said tiredly.

"The point is, Mudblood… no, never mind. If you would like to sit there and ignorantly stereotype us, then who am I to stop you," Draco said. Those last words shut Hermione right up, especially when Draco accused her of being ignorant. Who was it that was the top student of their class? Who was it that made Head Girl because of her maturity and intelligence? None of the Slytherins in this compartment did as well as Hermione in school. Not Millicent Bullstrode, not Pansy Parkinson, not Gregory Goyle, not Vincent Crabbe. Draco and Blaise were an exception, of course, but Hermione recognized that as good breeding, not so much actual intelligence.

"Why must it always be me," Hermione muttered to herself. Draco looked up at her questioningly, as if challenging Hermione to say out loud what she had just muttered. She just turned blindly away, and observed what the other Slytherin were doing. Blaise Zabini sat to her right and was absorbed in some thick, leather, tome about, undoubtedly, some sort of Arithmancy theory, since that was his best and favourite subject.

Blaise had begun Hogwarts as quite an awkward looking boy, but had, within the last three years, become quite the Adonis of Hogwarts. His mother was French and Italian, while his father was full-blooded Italian. One could imagine the outcome; caramel coloured skin, loose black curls and a slightly large nose. Everyone noticed when Blaise walked down the corridors, most likely because of his enormous height and lean muscled figure. Perhaps Blaise's best feature, though, were his stunning cerulean eyes that could make females, young and old alike, stop in their tracks. Yes, it was true; Blaise Zabini was often compared to some sort of Greek god. _Maybe just the _David, Hermione thought to herself.

Silently, as always, Blaise turned the crisp page in his book and his eyes began to flicker back and forth as they scanned the scribbled words. Across the compartment, Hermione spied an aggravated looking Draco shove a pug-faced Pansy Parkinson off of his lap. Pansy had always been an unattractive girl, with her scrunched face and bobbed black hair. It was quite obvious that she'd only managed to capture Draco because of her particularly outstanding upbringing. The fact that the two had been engaged since birth may have also had something to do with the pairing. Hermione growled lowly; Pansy's high-pitched, annoying voice was enough to make you want to wear ear-muffs permanently.

"Oh, Draco darling, whatever is the matter," Pansy warbled out, batting her heavily mascara-ed eyelashes and attempting to set herself on Draco's lap once again.

"I'm not in the mood for you, Parkinson. When will you get it past your thick skull that I can't stand you?" Draco shoved Pansy away once again, this time sending her into a burly Crabbe, who fell over onto a frowning Goyle. Both of the disgustingly thick Slytherins began to shove one another, getting a bit more violent with each harsh push. Millicent Bulstrode, who had been observing the scene just as much as Hermione had been was the one to stop the fighting. Millicent was a broad-shouldered, big-boned girl who could get what she wanted with a single glare. Millicent wasn't unattractive, just a little too beefy for many males' choices. So, when she launched herself off of the squishy compartment seat and yanked Crabbe and Goyle off of each other, everyone pretty much ignored her. They were used to this kind of behavior.

Hermione thought the sight was a trifle funny though. Two overly large dunces quickly controlled by a girl. Stifling back a giggle, Hermione stared amused at the frightened Crabbe and Goyle, who were quivering under Millicent's glare.

"What's so funny, Granger," Millicent snapped from where she towered over the two boys.

"Er, nothing, nothing at all," Hermione stuttered out, which got a snort from Blaise, who most likely knew exactly what she was laughing at.

"We're to arrive at the Hogsmeade Station in a short while, so you all may want to get changed," Hermione said, effectively changing the subject.

"Yes," Blaise agreed as he slammed his book shut. Standing up, he reached onto the metal shelf above where Hermione sat, and grabbed his brown school trunk down. Popping open the buckles on the trunk, Blaise pulled out his school uniform and started to shed his shirt. Hermione just gaped at Blaise's behavior. Did the Slytherins always get changed in front of each other, like it was some sort of group activity?

"Uhm," Hermione mumbled out, not sure of how to approach the subject of the horridly fit shirtless boy in front of her. Totally unexpected. Blaise was supposed to be too skinny, anything to make him flawed. Hermione found she actually preferred Blaise's lean torso, especially his hipbones.

"Oh, sorry, Granger. Forgot that you were a Gryffin-dork prude for a second. I know what you're thinking; how could I have possibly forgotten that? You'll have to live though, because unlike you and your friends, we Slytherins have nothing to hide," Blaise bit out. Was he suggesting that Harry had something to hide? Well, of course, Harry did, but well, she wouldn't be telling a whole flock of death eaters that anytime soon.

"I am _not_ a prude. And I have nothing to hide," Hermione said matter-of-factly, her tiny nose scrunching up in distaste.

"Oh yeah? Prove it then," Millicent spoke, her hate for Hermione increased tenfold. The innocent, proper Gryffindor would never, ever change in front of a whole crowd of Slytherins. Especially when one was her rival, her only enemy. One can only hazard a guess of the snide remarks Draco would make about Hermione's body. Hermione bit her lip, as was habit, and pondered whether she could actually do it. It was Hermione's last year, Dumbledore was dead, the war against the Darkness was raging on, and to tell the truth, she had nothing to lose. But at the same time she had everything. She didn't need the Slytherins to make fun of her anymore than they usually did, and she definitely didn't need for her best friends to hear about her striptease. Although, there would be absolutely no teasing, no slow removal of clothes. It would be over in a second, two at most.

McGonagall had set her to watch over the Slytherins, especially Malfoy, and taking her clothes off in front of them definitely wasn't controlling them. But she wanted change. Hermione wanted to do something that no one expected, while still remain the respected student that she was. She'd had enough of being talked down to. Maybe if she sunk to the Slytherins level for a moment, they'd show her the respect she deserved.

Looking up, Hermione noticed that Pansy had already shed her shirt, and was buttoning her school blouse up over a black bra. No, she couldn't. Hermione figured that she and Pansy would have around the same build, seeing as they were both around the same petite height, but that most certainly was not the case. Hermione had actual curves, which she sometimes hated, like when shirts were entirely too tight across the chest, or when jeans wouldn't fit over her hips. Pansy resembled the anorexic model types, stick straight with ribs showing. She looked so fragile and delicate, and Hermione wondered if Draco ever worried about breaking her when they were fucking.

It was now or never, though. Either way she would lose part of her dignity, so why not do it in a way that at least would be remembered?

"Fine," Hermione said with a smirk. A very Malfoy-ish smirk. Who exactly was she turning into? Standing up confidently, Hermione turned and stood on her tip-toes so that she could pull her school trunk off the shelf. She numbly dug through the stacks of books and piles of parchment, until she pulled out a white school blouse, a charcoal school skirt, her red and gold striped tie and her Gryffindor emblem embellished robes. All eyes were on her, even if Draco and Blaise and Crabbe and Goyle were trying to hide their curiosity by continuing to change.

Hermione grabbed her maroon jumper by the hem and tugged it over her head, revealing a simple white cotton bra. There was a barely audible gasp that went around the room, and the Slytherin girls both sniffed pompously and went back to changing. Pansy snorted at Hermione's choice of undergarments and made some comment about the 'expected' that caused the boys to explode in raucous laughter. Hermione shook in anger and embarassment, snatching her shirt up and tugging it on. The Slytherin boys, having recovered from their bout of laughter, continued to ogle the new Head Girl.

Blaise stood there, one eyebrow raised in question, fingers loosely resting on a half undone belt buckle. Draco was looking at Hermione, tightlipped and narrowed eyes. It was he who eventually stopped her.

"Granger, go." Malfoy looked at Hermione with a sickening seriousness in his eyes.

"What are you talking about," Hermione said, confused. Was her daring act worth nothing to them? What the hell did he mean, 'go'?

"Problem hearing, Mudblood? It's simple. Go. Now. Find an empty washroom and change there" Draco's stony gray eyes had darkened a shade, and it wasn't out of passion. A dark, brooding anger was reflecting from his silver pools. Hermione looked at Draco as if he were mad and made a noise that was a mix between a snort and a stubborn sigh. She'd always thought it best to appear unaffected and strong, even when you were quaking with embarrassment.

"You filth, put your shirt back on. None of us want to see your tainted body. Now, go down the hall, find somewhere empty to change and get dressed in your school uniform." There was something hypnotizing about Draco's tone, and Hermione found herself doing every single thing that he told her to do. Her jumper was slipped over her head and she quietly slid from the compartment. Tears stung her eyes, and Hermione's throat clenched in the expectation of oncoming sobs.

Why had she even begun to change in front of the Slytherins? She knew, in the back of her mind that at least one of the Slytherins would make a comment, some rude remark. But Draco had said the worst things. Made her feel dirty, made her feel worthless. The gaunt pale Slytherin had caught her on her mistake and saved her from humiliation, though. It was almost like he cared, in some sick twisted way that involved being especially vicious. Why?.


End file.
